


Part of a Team

by writingramblr



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: 5 drabbles +1, Angst, Cheesy, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, OT3, Oral Sex, Post-Movie(s), Romance, Threesome - F/M/M, snippets of scenes from the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:59:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya likes Gaby, tolerates Napoleon and learns to like visiting America.<br/>Wait, Napoleon likes Illya, Gaby likes their sense of humor and they all enjoy being spies together.<br/>Gaby likes Napoleon's cooking, Illya's kisses, and both of their fashion sense.<br/>Well...<br/>Let's just say they all enjoy working and living and pretending they're married or engaged at some point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Currently) Learning Russian

**Author's Note:**

> YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I LOVE THESE THREE.  
> literally i was unable to do more than squee as i left the theater.  
> what a wild ride from start to finish.  
> visit my tumblr if you'd like an actual review, if not, read on for the ot3 fluffyness.

“You seem as if you are not listening.”

Illya tapped Gaby’s hand, where it sat atop the desk of their hotel room and she started, her delicate features alert and suddenly focused on him.

“I’m sorry Illya.”

Her voice lilts gently to his ears, and he loves the way her accent caresses his name.

Every syllable sounds musical when she says it.

“It is all right. Shall we continue?”

“Please.”

She glanced down at his hand, and he jerked away at once, like she’d burned him.

“You two really need to take a break, I think. Maybe you should do tea? Without having to be too British.”

Napoleon swooped into the room from out of seemingly nowhere, and Illya fought the urge to throw something at him.

Namely the Russian to English and English to German dictionaries before him.

They were heavy enough to definitely cause some damage to the American gentleman spy, who always seemed to be getting in the middle of things when he even so much as tried to start charming Gaby.

Charming was probably the wrong word.

‘Getting to know intimately.’

That wasn’t quite it either.

Back to the Russian practice in the living room, Illya tried to ignore Napoleon but it couldn’t be helped. The dark haired man poured himself a drink, not of the tea variety, but more like the chilled alcoholic type.

Illya looked over at him almost with exasperation, and caught a glimpse of the fading sunlight breaking right through the crystal and making the whiskey look more like liquid gold.

“Please leave us be.”

Gaby looked indifferent, but Illya was fast losing patience with the American.

“Isn’t it a free country though? I can stay and watch if I want.”

Gaby broke first, smiling and shaking her head, as Illya sighed in annoyance.

“Free country? But you know this is not true.”

Gaby clicked her tongue and his gaze snapped to her delicate featured face,

“It is just a saying, they have them in your country yes? Soviet mother land Russia something something.”

Napoleon was probably smirking at the idea, but Illya couldn’t see his face as his hands flicked open the balcony doors, and he walked smoothly away from them, giving them the only speck of privacy they’d be allowed, short of hog tying him and tossing him off said balcony.

Illya tried to regain his composure, and think of a way to fire back at Gaby’s obvious teasing.

“Indeed. In Soviet Russia, Language learns you.”  
Gaby bit her lip, and he could swear her cheeks were turning pink.

Either that or she was becoming flushed.

“What if I’m ready?”

Illya cocked a brow at her,

“You think? As our American friend says, okay. ‘You are very beautiful, your kindness and radiance shine upon me every day. I am grateful for it.’”

Her mouth fell open and she blinked, once, twice, before Illya realized there was a very good chance he’d just blown his load, so to speak, and showed his hand far before he was ready.

“You understood that?”

From out on the balcony, he isn’t sure but he thought he heard Napoleon chuckle to himself.

“You said thank you for something, and you used lots of the word ‘you’ but other than that, I got nothing.”

Her apologetic smile is his lifeline.

He will cling to it for as long as he can.

He grins tightly,

“Back to studying it is then. We’ll break for dinner in an hour.”

“I’ll order it up.”

Napoleon interrupts, and Illya is once again ready to punch him.

But rarely does a day go by when he doesn’t have that feeling.


	2. It's Ok (I'm Here Now.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a scene that broke my heart and solidified the ship for me. or rather, the ot3ness of it all

The rain is cold on her skin but the only thing beyond that she knows is pain. Her world has turned upside down and not just from the two handsome agents who’ve managed to upend all of her recent life’s work.

 

She’s been stolen away from her father, she’s been racketed around in a car with barely enough protection for a turtle, much less a human.

When they crash, and finally, because she wasn’t sure how much more of that she could take, she focuses on the pain.

Napoleon is there in an instant.

His strong legs kick the bar she’s handcuffed to, and she’s free for a moment, as he pulls her from the wreckage, she tries to breathe without wincing.

Opening her eyes is almost outside her ability for the moment, but dark shadows are passing before her, breaking the light of the clouded sky and she chokes on a scream to warn Napoleon of the man who is not dead, who wants to kill them both.

Luckily they are not alone.

Just in the nick of time, six feet six of blond and blue eyed muscle shows up to toss the scraps of motorcycle at Victoria’s husband and partner in crime.

 

Napoleon turns away from her, snatching the man’s pistol to ensure the job is done, and Illya is now kneeling beside her, pulling her head from the mud and into his lap.

His hand strokes her cheek, and she hears him say words she can scarcely believe, but she doesn’t think her eyes would lie to her.

“It’s okay.”

He doesn’t say the rest of it.

‘I’m here now.’

Because she knows.

It’s okay now, because he’s here.

Together he and Napoleon are an unstoppable force, and she’s grateful to have been thrown in the mix with them.

Illya scoops her into his arms, and though she was afraid her ankle was broken, now she knows it doesn’t matter.

He would carry her everywhere.

He’d walk over broken glass.

It’s that kind of feeling.

When the darkness comes and exhaustion takes over, if only briefly, she welcomes it with open arms.

Because she’s safe in his.


	3. (Reformed) Serial Womanizer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've shamlessly cribbed most of the chapter titles/drabble names from the three's files at the end of the movie.

“What does a serial womanizer like you really know about romance cowboy?”

Illya watched the American stalk around the room, appearing to be investigating the décor, but really sweeping the room for possible bugs.

His ridiculous three piece suit was so perfectly tailored Illya wasn’t quite sure how he had the room to even breathe, much less make smart remarks to every single thing he threw at him.

“I know plenty about romance. It’s actually quite key to the entire role of being a womanizer.”

Napoleon replied smoothly, and Illya was once again at a loss, before something struck him.

“What sort of tactics did you use on the monster of a woman that was Victoria? Knives? Broken glass? Or crushed diamonds?”

Napoleon stiffened and Illya saw his jaw tighten.

“I don’t want to talk about that if you don’t mind.”

Illya grimaced.

He had him.

After weeks of trying to find a breaking point.

It had been so simple, why had he not brought it up before?

“Tell me cowboy, did you realize you were fucking a murderer?”

Napoleon’s breath escaped him in a sigh, and he shook his head.

“Really. You’re doing this? Wow. Okay.”

Illya stepped back a pace, just to ensure that if the American tried anything, violence wise, he’d be far out of range. But it appeared Napoleon was simply preparing to do what he’d only sworn not to.

Illya watched as his muscles flexed beneath the suit, and he marveled at American tailoring for a moment, before realizing it was more of a distraction than an accomplishment.

“Tell me.”

“I didn’t know, not really. I had no way of knowing how devious, how deplorable, how despicable that woman was, until I saw the truth for myself. Felt it. In case you forgot, you rescued me from a torture chamber that was in her businesses harbor. The crazy mad scientist had been hired by her. If you’d been a few more minutes, we wouldn’t be having this asinine conversation.”

Illya swallowed his jibes and focused on the man’s face.

His blue eyes were cold enough to cut steel sometimes, and not to mention the line of his jaw, sometimes he swore he heard Gaby talking nonsense about how she’d like to feel it between her thighs, but that was an entirely different tangent.

He’d royally fucked up.

“You are right cowboy. I’m sorry for pressing the issue.”

Napoleon gave a dry sort of laugh.

“Are you now?”

“Yes. To show my apologizes, I am willing to do one thing, whatever you want, for you.”

Napoleon seemed to think for a moment, and then he shrugged, before muttering to himself,

“Can’t hurt to ask…”

Illya squared his shoulders and folded his arms,

“Name it.”

Napoleon licked his lips and stepped inside Illya’s comfort zone, his space bubble, and the Russian fought the urge to flinch away.

“I want you to kiss me like you do Gaby. I’ve had the unfortunate duty to witness it several times, and frankly, I’m jealous.”

Illya’s eyebrows shot up almost at once, and he swore the carpet was eating his shoes and stealing his feet from beneath him.

Gaby had suggested it days ago, and he hadn’t listened seriously.

She’d whined about how Napoleon was always left out.

Always seeking comfort in another woman’s arms.

The serial womanizer doing what he did best.

 

Had he changed?

Or was it all a lie?

“You can’t be serious cowboy.”

Several thousand replies and reasons flooded his mind, while the fact was that Napoleon was now barely an inch away, and those white teeth were smirking _at him_ now, not some damsel at a bar in a hotel.

He was the one caught in Napoleon Solo’s sights.

He was used to making himself shorter when Gaby wanted to steal a kiss, but he didn’t have to do nearly as much work to kiss Napoleon.

The American tasted of coffee and whiskey and something else indefinable.

His mouth parted beneath Illya’s and he nearly jumped at the feel of the man’s hands on his waist.

 

The entire thing was ridiculous.

Not quite as much as the cut of the American’s suits.

Such a close cut lent itself well to a bit of what Gaby would call groping.

 

Illya’s hands might have wandered but he never heard a word of protest.


	4. Third Times the Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> also known as, twice interrupted, once kissed

1.

The dancing had turned sharply into something else entirely.

Gaby might have thought it was wrestling, but it felt a whole of a lot more like rough foreplay to Illya.

She was strong indeed, yes, but compared to him...well it was not an even fight.

He allowed the fact that she was beautiful, slightly drunk, and clad in the skimpiest of pajamas to throw the odds in her favor.

When she topped him, and threw him down on the floor, he did feel the wind get knocked out of him.

That might have had to do with the fact she was sitting on his chest, but it was all semantics.

She really was a tiny little thing.

In his arms as she was, he could have flipped her over and crushed her neck with one hand if he needed to.

The soft warmth of her body against his chest was quite welcoming though, and the way she was staring at him unnerved him.

Was she preparing to sucker punch him?

He studied her face, and determined that was not the plan.

As the music wound down in the background, she started leaning closer to him.

Surely she could feel his heart racing beneath her?

Closer still, now he could lean up and bump her forehead with his if he chose.

A heartbeat away, and her eyes began to fall shut.

He allowed his own to do the same, and he braced himself for impact.

Her lips met his shoulder instead, in a rougher estimation of a kiss, and his eyes snapped open at once.

Steady breathing told him what had happened.

The alcohol had run its course, and she was asleep.

He sighed.

Carrying her to her bed was a simple matter, for she was much nicer to have in his arms when she wasn’t trying to knock him down or smack him in the face.

She looked calm, and almost angelic as he laid her head upon her pillow, and he tugged the blanket up to cover her, turning away and preparing to leave, but just as he did, he felt a small hand snag his.

He looked to her face, but she remained as if she was sleeping.

Her hand dropped, and his heart went with it.

“Goodnight chop shop girl.”

*

2.

The receiver was off and easy to turn on with the flip of a switch, yet Illya couldn’t help the nerves he felt as he approached Gaby.

She was standing on the table, towering over him for once in her life, and he looked up at her, getting a bit lost in the warm brown of her eyes, before he reached out for her thigh.

Rubbing his hands together hadn’t helped at all, and she jumped the instant his hands made contact with her skin.

She wasn’t just startled though, she was trembling beneath his fingers.

“What’s the matter? Why are you shaking?”

Gaby looked down at him and pinned him with a stare, smart remarks dying on her tongue,

“I’m afraid.”

He fumbled around for a moment and found the switch, flicking it on and then withdrawing his hands, before then placing them on her waist to help her down from the table.

She was now staring up at him, and he down at her.

“Don’t be. We’ll be right there with you the whole time.”

She blinked, and nodded.

He hated seeing her look like this.

He almost wanted to make her feel safer, if he could, if she’d let him.

She was so close, it would only mean he needed to lean down, and then their lips would be level.

“Are we all turned on?”

Napoleon returned and in a split second the moment shattered.

Gaby danced away from him and forced a smile, and Illya nodded, grinding his teeth and glaring at the American.

“Let’s go.”

*

3.

She was preparing to walk out the door, and he needed to do something to stop her.

He wanted her to stay.

He couldn’t find the right words, and when she looked up at him, big brown eyes wide, and waiting and hoping, he still had only silence as his ally.

“Goodbye Illya.”

The door slammed and rattled his brain it seemed.

Now he only had his final mission.

Retrieve the disc, kill Solo, and return to Russia.

Pretty, kind, clever and strong German girls be damned.

He clenched his fists and walked to Solo’s room.

They exchanged some witty banter, and just as Illya’s hand was rising to grip his gun, Napoleon tossed something at his face.

It was a simple matter to snag it out of the air.

“My father’s watch.”

He stated.

Napoleon nodded.

“I know why you’re here. I know you’ve been told to get the disc and kill me if necessary, but hear me out. I have an idea.”

Illya did something he never thought he could.

He followed the American.

To the rooftop.

The easy part was burning the disc.

The hard part was seeing Gaby again, so soon after she’d walked out of his life for what he imagined would be forever.

Then they were being told they were a new team.

Napoleon saluted him with his glass and walked away, towards the sunset, and Illya swore he heard him mutter,

“I’ll lock the door and let you two have a moment.”

Gaby was staring at him with fire in her eyes.

“Well, so it seems we will be working together.”

Illya crossed his arms, and tried to make himself as big as possible, prepared for any barbs she could send his way.

She pursed her lips, and shook her head,

“I don’t know about that.”

“No?”

“I don’t think I know you intimately enough to be comfortable working with you.”

Illya’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Really?”

She nodded, and before he could blink, she’d danced over to his side, snatched up his drink, and finished it.

“I had some important research to finish, but I kept getting interrupted.”

Illya swallowed quickly and he saw her eyes follow the movement of his throat before rising back to meet his curious and hopeful gaze.

“Indeed?”

She hummed deep in her throat, and stood up on tiptoes, her small hands pressing on his arms, as she half climbed him to kiss him.

Fearful of dislodging her, he remained frozen still.

Her tongue traced the seam of his lips and when he gasped she took advantage of it.

He’d been kissed certainly, but never as aggressively as by her.

When he opened his eyes, just briefly to gage where she was at, he noticed she was now kneeling on the chair beside him, and he grinned against her lips.

“You’re someone I could work with, I think.”

She managed to sigh, and he pulled her into his arms completely, so she needed only to lean backwards to see his face.

“Oh?”

She smirked,

“But that theory needs more testing.”

“I agree.”

Much more testing was required.


	5. For Want of A Dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by a beautiful yellow dress i know Gaby would love to wear spotted on tumblr.

 

"It's perfect for a Parisian vacation." Illya remarks.

 

"Already planning your honeymoon?"

 

Napoleon comments, only slightly displaying his jealous tendencies.

 

Gaby rolls her eyes at both of them.

 

"Yes yes it's very pretty. But you're forgetting something...it's 'our' honeymoon. Not just the anniversary of our meeting."

 

Illya pulls her in to place a kiss on her forehead, which he still has to lean down to do,

 

"She's very thoughtful, our Gaby."

 

Napoleon grinned and stepped up to her,

 

"Quite right."

 

His arm snakes around her waist, calloused fingertips brushing over the skin her backless dress exposes, and he feels her shiver,

 

"Thank -"

 

His kiss takes her breath away and effectively silences the words leaving her lips.

 

Illya flexes his hand at his side and the other that's linked with hers tightens a bit.

 

She taps the back of his hand with her finger and she feels him relax.

 

He is just as jealous and possessive at times as Napoleon and she's the same for them both.

 

It balances out when they're on a mission and in each other's ears.

 

When they're on a retreat?

 

It culminates in long hot sweaty nights leaving them all gasping for air.

 

Gaby could get used to it.

 

"So we're getting you the dress then?"

 

Napoleon quips as soon as they part, and Illya nods sharply.

 

It's not up for debate.

 

Gaby hugs both of them,

 

"I'm so glad to have such wonderful fashion advisors."

 

The men exchange a glance over her head and she knows they'll be spectacular later, working out this latest bit of standoffishness.

 

With her right in the middle.

 

She smiles and runs a hand over the crisp yellow fabric.

 

All for a dress.

 

 


	6. What's Cooking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a bit of fun really.  
> i had to.  
> i'm not sorry.

“What’s up doc? What’s cooking?”

Gaby’s singsong imitation of a certain cartoon rabbit caught Napoleon’s ears and he stopped humming and turning mid-step, looking over at her from where he stood in front of the stove, clad in his usual suit minus his vest and jacket, with the addition of an apron.

“You’re in a particularly good mood tonight Miss Teller. Do tell.”

He winked at her and she blushed.

Somehow, though they’d been working together and sleeping in the same room and bed even for months, but one of those patented Solo smiles and she was back to square one of being just like the sort he used to seduce.

It wasn’t until the third member of the group, walked into the kitchen, stopped to sniff the air, and then smiled like the Cheshire cat that Gaby relaxed a bit.

“It smells like beef stroganoff. Someone is trying to apologize I think.”

Gaby slid over to him and hugged him around the waist, staring up at him with a dreamy smile,

“Is that right darling? Did ‘Leon do something to anger you? I missed that.”

Illya shook his head, before stroking her cheek with a free hand and twirling a brown curl around the fingers of his other hand,

“It’s not something recent. He needs to make up for all the times he stole a moment from us.”

Gaby couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Well I’d say he’s more than made up for them.”

She winked over at Napoleon, who was currently taste testing out the gravy, complete with an utterly devious method of licking off the wooden spoon that made her stomach tighten and heat flood her core.

Illya only shrugged, and Gaby moved away from him to begin setting their makeshift table, which was in actuality a kitchen island.

They typically stood around for most of their meals, if not out on a mission.

“It is finite. Come and get it.”

Napoleon declared, along with another wink that only made Gaby roll her eyes again.

Both of them were unbelievable at times.

Cheesy and ridiculous despite being polar opposites.

Illya insisted on Gaby getting her food plated first, despite it being his favorite meal, and when Napoleon handed her said plate, she smiled gratefully.

“Don’t hold back. Tell me exactly what you think of it.”

Napoleon and Illya probably stared at one another for a good minute while Gaby looked on, until Illya finally blinked, and snagged another bite before speaking, mouth half full.

“It is good.”

Gaby smirked down at her plate.

Napoleon blinking and spluttering in shock at the underwhelming compliment was too funny.

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you?”

Illya retorted, and Gaby nearly snorted into her gravy.

“You know what I meant. I don’t understand. I trained at Le Cordon Bleu in France. This is a technically perfect dish. All you can say is, ‘Eet is guud?’”

Gaby stepped back from where she’d been in between her men and watched Illya carefully.

Napoleon’s imitation of his accent had been a blatant tease and push, and asking for trouble.

The Russian squared his shoulders, and moved right into Napoleon’s personal space, forcing the American to look up into his eyes.

It was usually the sort of move they pulled in the bedroom after a long day, and Gaby found herself holding her breath waiting to see what would happen.

She’d been looking at the wrong thing, as it turned out.

While staring at their faces, watching for the reactions, Illya had been to strike Napoleon with his fists, but the shorter man snagged them both and practically pounced on the Russian.

Gaby clapped a hand to her mouth as the two men kissed fiercely before her.

She set her plate down gently and then retreated to the bedroom, shedding clothing as she went.

Clearly the men had decided to skip dessert and were turning a stupid argument into an excuse for sex.

Not that they ever needed one.

Lounging on the bed, she was certain she heard the sound of clothing being ripped, and Illya’s sex voice, more guttural and deep and heavily accented than normal, saying something like,

“Gaby is waiting for us.”

Napoleon’s glib reply came out crystal clear,

“I never like to keep a lady waiting.”

Before she could roll her eyes a third time, both of them emerged from the kitchen into the bedroom doorway, and Illya’s shirt was hanging open while Napoleon’s apron was in tatters, as well as his pants being halfway undone.

His shirt was nowhere to be found, but Gaby was almost positive it was on the kitchen floor.

“Now boys, have you worked out your anger and are ready to have a bit of fun?”

She clasped her hands together in front of her chest and waggled her eyebrows in the best impression of a typical American Hollywood screen villain.

Napoleon flexed his chest, drawing her eyes at once to his exposed skin, and Illya began shedding the rest of his clothes to join her.

“What will you have us do Miss Teller?”

“Once you finish getting naked, I want you to come kiss me.”

Napoleon grinned,

“Happy to.”

Illya pouted beside her, his hands anything but idle over her bare skin, fingertips dancing just above where she wanted them.

“Yes, well…”

She trailed off, and as he climbed onto the bed he seemed to understand.

He winked at Illya and then began kissing up her legs, starting by caressing her ankles and trailing his tongue on the inside of her thighs.

“Mhm that’s perfect.”

Her voice always seemed to give out when he did that clever thing with his tongue and Illya loomed over her all at once,

“Does that mean I may kiss you on the lips?”

Gaby smiled dreamily up at him, barely with the strength to nod as Napoleon hit the exact right spot inside her, fingers now working in tandem with his mouth.

“Yes…please.”  
“She’s already begging cowboy. How do you do it?”

Gaby waved a hand around before thrusting it through the American’s perfectly styled hair,

“Don’t distract him while he’s-ah, working. He can instruct you later.”

She could feel Illya smiling against her mouth and he drank her gasps as she fell over the edge beneath Napoleon’s hands.

“That is a sight I will never grow tired of. In fact, I think we should always make sure Gaby looks as happy and sated as she does now.”

Napoleon was sitting up slightly, wiping his mouth obscenely on the back of his hand.

Illya pulled away, breaking the kiss, to nod in agreement.

Gaby sighed in contentment,

“I would be happy if you two agreed on more things. Besides making me orgasm.”

The shit eating grin on the American’s face told her that he was disagreeing with her.

Completely missing the point.

Illya licked his lips and cocked a golden brow at Napoleon,

“So tell me cowboy, when will you teach me your ways?”

Napoleon lifted a finger, and Gaby knew instantly it was the one that always finished her off,

“First I will teach you to suck the juice from a lemon. It will be very instructive.”

Gaby didn’t even bother rolling her eyes, she knew Illya was glaring daggers at him.

“Are you saying I should pleasure you before I learn to pleasure our little возлюбленная?”

Gaby blinked at him, and bit her lip before giggling.

Napoleon looked down at her with an expression that was dangerously close to fondness on his handsome face, and then eyed Illya.

“Does she know what that means?”

Illya shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, though his heart was racing.

“I am not sure.”

Gaby sighed,

“I don’t. You know I haven’t had as many lessons as I would like.”

Napoleon reached down to lazily take his cock in hand, and he shrugged,

“I would tell you my dear, but I’m not sure he would want me.”

Gaby swallowed,

“Is it something bad?”

Illya’s mouth gaped open, and Napoleon was quick to shake his head, while his hand sped up,

“Of course not. It’s something very sweet. But I don’t wish to speak for Peril.”

Gaby blinked up at him, and then her hand snaked over to push his off from his cock.

“I want to do that.”

“Okay.”  


Illya was ignoring his own arousal in the interim as he stared between the two of them.

“Are we really doing this?”

Gaby grinned over at him,

“Doing what?”

The minx.

She had Napoleon on the verge of climax and she was acting like it was nothing.

She had had both of their cocks in her hands before, while she allowed them to touch her and Illya could have confessed all of his sins easily then, but now, with no teasing or touching at all, he found himself at a loss for words.

“It’s not something new.”

Napoleon added.

Illya rolled his eyes, and Gaby giggled again.

Music to his ears.

“Gaby…I was just trying to say, that I am very fond of you. I care for you, for you both in fact. Much as our cowboy thinks he knows everything…sometimes he’s right,” Illya lifted his hand, quick to clarify, “But only sometimes.”

Napoleon smirked over at him.

“Thank you for that.”

Gaby blinked up at him with wide eyes,

“Please tell me.”

Illya gazed down at her, and reached out to link his hand with her free one,

“You are our sweetheart. Our lady love. My heart is yours.”

Gaby snuggled closer to him, dragging Napoleon along, as she still held him in hand.

He didn’t protest.

“I feel the same. I’m not just saying that for the sex. You two are wonderful.”

Illya exchanged a glance with Napoleon, and the American nodded slightly.

“That is delightful to hear.”

Gaby licked her lips and dropped her eyes to Illya’s lips, and he got the message, leaning down to kiss her breathless, but he managed not to distract her from finishing Napoleon off.

“Your plan with the stroganoff worked like a charm cowboy.”

Illya finally added, when Gaby had moved from kissing him to down his chest and beyond, and Napoleon shrugged, lounging back against the cushions and simply watching the show,

“What can I say? My cooking is magical.”

Gaby hummed in agreement and Illya lost the ability to reply, or think coherently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case it wasn't obvious возлюбленная means "our sweetheart"


End file.
